Loretta, I love you.
Not like the way they told you love is. And I didn’t know this either, but love don’t make things nice. It ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess.
We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us. We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts. And love the wrong people, and die. I mean the storybooks are bullshit.
Now will you please come upstairs with me and get in my bed?